“We’ll do as we’ve done before, Ben,—when serving under the flag,—make the best of it.”
“I shouldn’t mind a storm, unless it was a right out-and-out hurricane,” put in an old sailor who had joined the army.
“One might expect that, from such a sea-dog as you,” laughed Gilbert. “I know you don’t like anything better than to have it blow great guns.”
“Where are we bound, captain?”
“You’ll have to ask me something easier, Blarco. To Korea or Manchuria, I reckon.”
“All right—so long as it’s not the North Pole, I’m satisfied.”
“I imagine we’re going to follow the rest of the corps that went to Chemulpo and Chinampo,” came from Ben. “More than likely our troops will strike at the Russians from across the Yalu River.”
“Sounds rather odd to say our troops, doesn’t it?”
“It does,—but what else can you say?”
“Nothing. We are under the Mikado’s flag now and no mistake,” answered Gilbert.